I'm Your Man by Timothy James Beck Page B

saying. “Now I’ve got light and heat and someone to make sure I’m still alive when I go off on one of my painting tangents and don’t surface for days.”
    â€œLike Mrs. Lazenby,” Martin said, and they laughed with guilty expressions.
    â€œI’m sorry,” I said. “What are you talking about?”
    â€œIf only I could speak with subtitles. Try to keep up this time, Blaine,” Martin said. He continued, using elaborate hand gestures. “Mrs. Lazenby died, so obviously she didn’t need the second floor of the town house. I wanted Blythe to move in, but she said the lighting sucked. Then the couple on the third floor agreed to switch apartments for a rent reduction, so now they’re on the second, and Blythe will be on the third, with new skylights installed courtesy of Daniel.”
    There was an angry humming in my ears, and I was certain I could not have heard him correctly. The town house he was talking about had been left to Daniel by an old friend, Ken Bruckner, who’d died from AIDS a couple of years before. I’d wanted to move there with Daniel, but he hadn’t wanted to displace Martin, who’d been Ken’s lover. Our compromise was Daniel’s assurance that if his second- or third-floor tenants ever left, we’d take the first available floor and move out of our separate Hell’s Kitchen apartments to set up housekeeping together.
    â€œThis was Daniel’s idea?” I asked.
    â€œIsn’t it great?” Blythe asked.
    â€œIt was a solution, yes,” I agreed. “I’m sorry; I have to run. I’m late for a meeting that’s long overdue.”
    I let myself into Daniel’s apartment, doing all the things I knew he’d love, including turning on the fountain and the lights of his patio garden and timing our meal of Thai lemon chicken just right so that when he walked in, I was lighting candles on the table.
    â€œWhat a nice surprise,” he said, wrapping his arms around me. “I skipped lunch today because that idiot Jane-Therese kept blowing our scene. Recovery. Ha. She recovered from rehab faster than anyone I’ve ever known. Mmmm, you smell great. You showered at the gym?”
    â€œYep,” I said. “Just get comfortable and let me serve you.”
    â€œYou don’t have to twist my arm,” Daniel said, grinning with his eyebrows raised. He sat at the table and watched while I poured wine. When he bit into the chicken, he made an appreciative noise and said, “This is perfect.”
    â€œGood,” I said, biting into my own chicken, which might as well have been shoe leather. “Now tell me about your day and the evil Jane-Therese.”
    I laughed in all the appropriate places during his story, refilling his glass from time to time. When the first candle sputtered, he seemed to realize that he’d been doing all the talking.
    â€œI’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t even ask about your day.”
    â€œOh, you know, the usual. I’m much more concerned about you.”
    â€œConcerned? Why?”
    â€œI heard the news, and I know how much it must have upset you. It’s always hard to lose a little piece of your history.”
    Daniel frowned, trying to figure out what I was talking about, but obviously enjoying the evening so much that he wasn’t sure he wanted to go wherever sad place I was leading him.
    â€œHistory?” he asked.
    â€œI heard about poor Mrs. Lazenby,” I said. “I know how much you and Ken thought of her, so the loss must be hitting you hard.” He shifted, but before he could say anything, I went on. “Please don’t worry. I’m not going to hound you about moving into her apartment together when you’re still reeling from the shock. Besides, I’m not sure I’m ready to do that.”
    â€œYou’re not?” Daniel asked, trying to conceal his relief, which might have